


Silver Threads Among The Gold

by nerdcredred, Ocelot_l



Series: Lifetimes [48]
Category: Atop the Fourth Wall, That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdcredred/pseuds/nerdcredred, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocelot_l/pseuds/Ocelot_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nostalgia Critic worries a lot about keeping up sometimes, especially with his younger, much more energetic boyfriend. But does he really have to worry so much? Prompt #1 for the Kink Meme Fill-A-Thon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Threads Among The Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Secret Treehouse 2016 Kink Meme Fill-A-Thon. 
> 
> This entry is written by Ocelot_l ONLY and has been uploaded with her permission as part of the Lifetimes series.
> 
> Lifetimes can also be found on my Dreamwidth at http://nerdcredred.dreamwidth.org/.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: We do not own the characters, the shows, or the people who portray the characters. These stories are meant as a work of fiction and are fair use. Please support the creators by watching their videos, letting the ads play, buying their DVDs and merchandise, and/or contributing to their Patreon(s). "Silver Threads Among the Gold" is performed by Bing Crosby.

Critic might have complained and moaned about a lot of things in his life, but one thing he loved without question was a long, steamy shower. No matter how shitty his day had been, no matter how infuriating a movie he'd been forced to sit through, nothing could keep his mood sour once he'd shed his clothes and stepped under that relaxing cascade of hot water.

After finishing an especially long shower, where he'd tried to scrub off the musk a visit from Devil Boner had left on his skin, Critic turned off the water and stepped out into his spacious bathroom to towel off. He grinned as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror; even without his glasses, he could tell he was still quite the appealing specimen. Critic twirled around, admiring himself from every angle, until he saw something which caused his smile to falter.

Had his ass always been that saggy? He frowned and clasped his buttocks with his hands, trying in vain to push the pale flesh upwards as if he were molding clay. Inevitably his cheeks fell victim to gravity once more.

"I've got to work out more," he muttered as he rubbed a towel against his hair. "Or for a first time."  
Upon lowering the towel, Critic caught sight of more stray hairs inside the folds of cloth than he cared to see and sighed. Then he blinked and did a double-take before grabbing his glasses from the counter.

"Damn steam." After wiping the lenses clear, a fully-sighted Critic returned his gaze to the collection of hair he'd amassed in the towel and felt his heart drop.

"Gray." Not one strand held the slightest hint of color. "How the hell could this have happened?" Critic leaned in closer to the mirror, tilting his neck at extremely uncomfortable angles as he tried to study the top of his head. "I'm not even 40 yet. How can I have this many gray hairs?"

Critic straightened out his neck, his eyes darting to his chest where a few more silvery threads could be seen mixed in with the usual chestnut. He sucked in a breath before glancing down at his crotch and then regretting it immediately.

He was digging through his medicine cabinet searching for tweezers when a voice from the bedroom almost startled him into dropping an electric razor on his foot.

"Critic? Are you coming to bed?"

"Y-yeah! I'll be right there!"

Moments later, a fully dressed and capped Critic made his way into the bedroom, where an amused Film Brain, who was already under the covers, glanced up at him from his laptop.

"I didn't realize we were dressing up for bed now."

"Huh?" Critic glanced down at his clothes and shrugged. "Oh. I, um, must have done it without thinking."

"Not a big deal." Film Brain shut his laptop and set it aside. "I was about ready for a break anyway. Why  
not slip out of those clothes and into me?" he asked with a knowing smile.

Despite just stepping out of the shower, Critic immediately started to sweat. "You want to fuck? Right now?"

"We don't have to if you aren't in the mood," Film Brain replied, his expression growing puzzled as he realized Critic wasn't looking directly at him. "Are you feeling alright? We can just turn in if you're tired-"

"I'm not tired!" Critic insisted. "It's only ten-thirty! Wh-what do you think, I'm some old man who needs twelve hours of sleep every night or some shit!" He tried to laugh, but it came out sounding rather choked.

Film Brain's puzzled expression turned to one of concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Unable to face the piercing gaze of his boyfriend any longer, Critic groped about the wall for the light switch and quickly blanketed the room in darkness.

"I'm fine, just getting undressed," he called out as he struggled to pull his shirt up over his head.

"And is there any reason you needed to do that while it's pitch black?" Film Brain's voice was starting to fill with concern as well.

"We don't need light for-ow, shit! F-for what we're going to do." Critic hopped on one foot after banging the other into the leg of his dressed.

"Critic are you alright?" The rustling of blankets alerted Critic to the fact that Film Brain had left the bed. "I'm turning on the light."

"No!" Finally nude, Critic dove towards what he hoped was his bed and rolled onto his stomach, quickly pulling the covers over his body. "I'm here! There's no need to turn on any lights!"

There was a minute of silence in the room and Critic could feel his heart beating in his ears. Finally, the bed shifted and he sighed with relief when he felt Film Brain's warm body beside his own. Not wanting to field more questions, Critic pulled him into an embrace and started kissing him, hoping his boyfriend would be swept away by the passion and forget any strange behavior he'd witnessed that evening.

He was proven successful when Film Brain responded eagerly, unleashing soft moans as he ground his hips against him in a quick, urgent manner.

"Oh God... Critic..."

"Mind if I... go first?" Critic asked between kisses before rolling back onto his stomach. The longer he kept Film Brain occupied, the easier it would be to tire him out until he fell asleep, leaving Critic plenty of time to slip out and find those damned tweezers. Or some hair dye. Whatever was closer really.

"Of course not." Film Brain was quite enthusiastic about pleasuring the older man, his kisses loving and soft, his touches firm but gentle, caressing all along his neck and back and nipples and cock before slowly pushing inside, searching, spreading, playing Critic's body like an instrument. When he finally slid his cock inside and pushed against all of his boyfriend's tender spots, Critic sang a song more beautiful than words could describe. He came hard and rose high into a blissful state, feeling floaty and drowsy and completely content with the world. He wanted to fall asleep right then and there, satisfied and happy, the man he loved curled securely around his body...

"I'm glad you enjoyed that," Film Brain said, mouth pressed against the bite mark on Critic's right shoulder. He kissed it softly before Critic felt his lips form a grin. "Now it's my turn."

Shit.

Critic's plan had backfired. Instead of tiring Film Brain out, he'd energized him for round two, while Critic was the one struggling to even keep his eyes open. There was no way he could slip out of the bed that night, not when Film Brain was waiting to have his generosity returned.

"Critic?"

That note of concern was filling the Brit's voice once again, so Critic forced himself to roll over.

"I'm here," he croaked, hoping he sounded weak from desire and not exhaustion. "I know it's your turn. I'd never keep you waiting. Lay down."

Film Brain obeyed without comment and Critic slid his hands down the younger man's body, almost amazed to realize how quickly he'd gotten hard again; it felt like ages since Critic had been able to do that.

But no, thoughts like those were not appropriate for this situation. Critic needed to focus on showering Film Brain with the love and affection he deserved, so he pulled the younger man close and started to kiss the back of his neck. Film Brain's skin was amazingly smooth and Critic could spend hours tracing his lips along it...

When Critic's eyes opened, he was confused by the fact that he could see. Not well, of course, since he wasn't wearing his glasses, but the room was no longer shrouded in darkness. He blinked a few times as he tried to figure out why Film Brain would have turned the light on. Then he realized he hadn't; sunlight was pouring in through the windows.

"Oh fuck!" Critic slapped a hand over his mouth when his outburst caused the warm body beside him to stir.

"Please don't wake up, God please don't wake up-"

"Critic?"

"Fuck. Thanks for nothing, God."

Film Brain rubbed his eyes before peering at Critic, who had turned away from him, a bed sheet wrapped completely around his body. "You awake?" He attempted to tug the sheet from the man's body.

"Stop! Let me go!"

"Critic, what is going on with you?"

"I fell asleep!"

"Yeah, we both did."

"But you didn't! You fucked me and were ready for more! I was the one who couldn't keep up." A low whimper slipped out and Critic tightened his grip on the sheet covering him.

It took a minute for Film Brain to interpret this. "You're referring to when you fell asleep on top of me? Critic, that was not a big deal."

"Don't lie to me," Critic mumbled. "No one likes going to bed with blue balls."

"Well, I did take care of that situation myself," Film Brain admitted with an embarrassed laugh. "You really don't have to worry about it."

"How can I not worry? I knew I was falling short in our relationship, but now there's no more room for denial. I'm completely pathetic."

His tone was so pitiful that Film Brain sat upright, determination filling his eyes as he forcefully yanked the white cloth away from his boyfriend. Critic howled and curled his body into a ball, trying to cover himself with his hands.

"Haven't I been humiliated enough? Can't you just leave me to die in peace?" he moaned.

Film Brain's expression didn't waver. "Critic, I don't know what's going on with you, but you're being ridiculous. You can't truly believe what you're saying, can you?"

"Of course I can! I'm a gigantic failure as a boyfriend!" Critic snapped, his face growing redder the longer he spoke. "I'm old and my ass is sagging, along with every other part of me I'm sure, and the hair that isn't falling out of my head is gray, and last night I did the one thing I used to laugh about when I heard about it happening to other guys, because it would never happen to me-I fell asleep in the middle of sex!" He buried his face in his hands at this admission, the rest of his words muffled. "I'm just an old, fat, ugly, loser who can't keep up with his hotter, younger boyfriend, and I'm going to lose you and be miserable and die alone!"

Critic needed a moment to breathe after unleashing all that, which Film Brain allowed him to have in peace. Once his panting stopped sounding so ragged, Film Brain laid down beside Critic, wrapping his arms around the taller man's back.

"You may be a little saggier than you were when I first met you; a little balder and a little grayer; and you might even pass out on top of me during intimate moments; but you're still you. You're passionate and funny and charming and witty. You're brilliant when it comes to films, and art, and music, and so many other things that people discount because they only see you as the angry critic who hate everything. But I've never dismissed those sides of you, Critic. I love every bit of you, even the parts you don't like about yourself. In fact, I really love those parts, because they're what make you whole; they're what make you the most amazing person I've ever known. Your body might be growing older, but it's still beautiful to me, Critic... you're still beautiful to me, no matter how your looks change, and I promise, even if we can't have sex more than once a night-or even every night-you'll never lose me."

Critic shuddered as warm kisses peppered his back, his body uncurling without him even noticing. "Never?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"Not ever. When you're a cranky old geezer waving your cane around and screaming at the kids to get off your lawn, I'll be here baking cookies and putting your stories on."

Critic laughed. "At least I'm not that old. Yet." He slowly turned around to find Film Brain smiling back at him. "So you really don't think I'm a hideous monster in need of a serious beauty treatment?"

Film Brain pretended to think about it as his eyes scanned Critic's body. "You could do with a wax. Your manscaping skills are clearly sub-par."

"What?!" Critic's face filled with mock offense. "Look who's talking, Sasquatch!" Critic lunged at Film Brain, raking his fingers across his hairy chest and stomach until the Brit was laughing and squirming helplessly.

Critic might have complained and moaned about a lot of things in his life, but one thing he loved without question was Film Brain.


End file.
